


What We Leave Behind In The Snow

by kixxy23



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Abigail gets three parents, Adopted Abigail Hobbs, And he is very confused, Because she doesn't know her last name, But inside, But will not take Will from Mischa, Child Soldiers, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Hannibal Lecter Has a Crush, Hannibal finds out Mischa lived, Hannibal goes from having no precious people to suddenly having two, Hannibal's reaction to Mischa, Her name is Mischa Graham, Mischa Lecter Centric, Mischa Lecter Lives, Mischa and Will are besties that get married, Mischa and Will get engaged before show starts, Mischa doesn't remember Hannibal, Mischa is a cyborg, Mischa is a fusion between the Black Widow and Winter Soldier, Mischa is an assassin, Mischa is smart, Mischa thinks Will is precious, Red Room (Marvel), Selectively Mute Mischa Lecter, She has some emotional shit to deal with, She will break you with her thighs, She's a potato, They will break you if you hurt the other, Will is a good Friend, Will thinks Mischa is precious, and also strong, much - Freeform, what am i writing?, workout buddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-15 13:57:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19617844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kixxy23/pseuds/kixxy23
Summary: Hannibal left the remains of Mischa in the cold, Lithuanian snow. But she doesn't receive rest. The government needed soldiers for the war and finding another broken body to add to experimentations is nothing new.Even after the war, she was the perfect soldier.Till she found home.After all, Will Graham is known for collecting strays.





	1. Brother, can you hear? Brother, are you there?

**Author's Note:**

> This idea kept eating at me for months! So I'm writing it here.

Virgin white, an unforgiving blanket, splattered with a warm, rich red.

Her first memory.

Snow and blood.

Her blood.

She could hardly feel anything past the slowing of her heart. She knew the snow should be cold. Knew her blood is starting to match, as it freezes in her veins.

It's so calm.

Cold and calm and _beautiful_. 

Then she blacks out as she hears crunching coming near. But as she fades, a part of her questions who it is.

_**"Brolis?"** _


	2. A heavy winter breaks to spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is cruel and cold, but Mischa knows little else.  
> They put her back together again and teach her to be just as cold and cruel.  
> Her skin is the virgin snow, and she'll paint it pretty in red.  
> But winter was never meant to last. Finally, Mischa sees spring.

When she wakes up, she is warm.

Warm and in _pain_.

Even after they put her together again, there is _pain_.

The first time she woke up she ripped her self apart, again.

The blackened nails of her right hand clawed at synthetic flesh, peeling away like an orange rind to reveal mechanical insides. In the process, she tore away some of her real nails, as well.

Sick. Her stomach roiling. Blood cascaded past blue lips and over grey skin, spurting like a broken fountain as she coughed. It was slow, like sludge, and stuck to her once pale hair and her white hospital gown. Her brain started to make her hyperventilate, which only caused her to start violently choking on her own red.

Red.

Red.

RED.

**_RED!_ **

People in a plastic wardrobe and paper half-masks, hold her down and put her out again.

~

The next time she awoke, she was strapped down in a new hospital gown, clean and whole. A man was in the room with her, sitting in a metal chair. His face curled into a pacifying smile that made her insides feel sick. She didn't like him.

"Hello, little one, my name is Derek. Do you remember anything? Like a name? Or any family? Anything that happened before we found you?"

She paused, racking her mind for the clues to her identity. "Mischa."

Derek's smile seemed to stretch even more."You don't remember anything else?"

Flicking eyes around the room, as if it could give her the answers she was missing, she settled on a small "No, sir."

And that was when she sealed her fate. 

~

They expected her to preen under the praise, "You'll be the perfect weapon." "You'll be a dangerous little flower." or "You're excelling so quickly! Next thing you know, you'll be out in the field!"

But she didn't feel much of anything.

It was a good thing (for them) to teach her how to fake emotions and normal mannerisms.

It definitely came in use when she got a little older. When she could be used to lure powerful men and women for secrets and blood. A voice like honey, sick and sweet. It had fit her birth name (and new names) well.

Mischa, Greek for honey and bee. The sweet cherub with hair after her name-sake. Wearing the color of innocence, even as she lost hers, staining red.

Killer Bee, the violent assassin who stops at nothing to take her target down. She came decorated in gold. Like her new insides. Like 

And when she was made a leader of her own team she was christened in blood, given with a more terrifying title: The Red Queen.

She learned many things in her time in the Red Room. How to use various poisons and their antidotes, practicing mithridatism in her 'spare' time. Everything is a weapon, so long as you're willing to get creative. There's always an escape. Never quit until you've reached your goals. Use your weaknesses as a weapon against others. Sometimes you must hurt yourself to get what you're looking for. Don't ever break, not in front of others, they will use it against you. The body is a machine of organ and bone; take care of it, train it, and when you're done polish it over: it will never leave you.

But there is one thing she learned that she is sure the leaders of the Red Room would have put her out for: Too many morals get in the way of success, no morals make you an easy tool. Tools are used and thrown away when they break.

It was this ideology that leads her to eventually killing the leaders of the Red Room. The organization wiped away like it was never there. Agents scattered to the winds. And she was free.

As free as someone who couldn't feel.

Monsters are everywhere, they live in the flesh of Man. The only way to repent for being a monster is to get rid of other monsters.

~

She was after her latest target: A killer in New Orleans, Louisiana. She wouldn't have even found the name had it not been for an officer with a peculiar mind. She was currently following him, hoping to get the kill before something happened. Like an innocent man, the police officer previously mentioned, getting stabbed in the shoulder.

Well. That could have gone better.

~ 

She decided to follow the officer. He was a person of interest to her and she had her own questions.

It was almost sad to see how she slipped under the radar. All she had done was steal some scrubs and tie blond hair back in a bright pink scrunchie to make her seem like a nurse. She found his charts easily and strode with purpose and fake cheer into his hospital room.

Only to find the man in question trying to tear out his tubes.

"Sir, don't do that! You could hurt yourself!" She yelled in faux panic, rushing over to keep the illusion and to stop the foolish man.

He flinched, turning his head like a startled deer. His eyes were unsettling. Something seemed wrong with how he looked at her, almost as if he should not be looking this long. "You're not a nurse, are you?"

She blinked, "What on Earth do you mean, Mr. Graham?"

He seemed to sink into himself, paling. "Stop. Don't do that. Don't act like I'm crazy. You shouldn't be here, you're not a nurse. Why are you here?" His voice getting more frantic.

She realized she could use this angle, dropping her mask. "No, I'm not a nurse. I just want to ask some questions about what happened tonight. Do you think that would be okay?"

His eyes suddenly narrow. "You're not a nurse, but I can tell you're not a reporter." Oh, well isn't that just wonderful? "Why are you here, cut your bullshit!?!" He seemed to spit the swear out at her.

"I'm here because I want to know how you figured out it was him? I couldn't, and I'd been hunting him since I'd been assigned to. The girlfriend of one of the victims hired me."

"To what, turn him in?"

"You know well that is not what I was hired to do."

"Then why are you telling me? I'm a cop." But she could tell he wasn't confused. She decided to answer him anyway.

"I want to know how you tracked him so well."

"Empathy disorder."

"Hmm?"

The staring was getting too much, but she was never one to turn away from a challenge. It almost seemed like a test.

"How?"

"I get in their heads. I see their design like it's my own. Like they're my thoughts. I become them." Here he grimaced. "I get inside the head of killers, and I understand them."

"Really? And what happens to you?"

"I get thrown away when I break."

Suddenly, she found herself thawing. Her heart ached. She knew what he felt.

"You wouldn't be this loose-lipped usually, right? The doctors must have given you some strong drugs." Her attempt at humor would fall flat on anyone else, but Will cracked a grin.

"You don't usually open up this quickly to people, right? I must have struck a cord." She grinned back to the brunet.

"My name is Mischa." She offered.

"No last name?"

"Not that I remember."

"I could give you mine." His gaze going soft.

"Are you flirting with me?" She arched an eyebrow towards the man.

"No, I don't know how to flirt to save my life. I'm just offering. It's been so long since someone didn't judge me for something I couldn't control."

"Should I expect a bunch of animals at your house?"

"Why?" He asked confused, and a little offended.

"I want to know if I'm going to be the first stray you take in." Mischa teased.

Laughter. "Ah, you got me! I've got a few dogs."

"You sure you won't regret this after the drugs wear off?"

"I probably will. But it's nice to have a person to talk to."

And that was the start of a beautiful friendship.

**Author's Note:**

> Brolis means brother in Lithuanian.


End file.
